The movie that has had the greatest impact on my life is To the Bone. The film follows a young woman struggling with an eating disorder as she enters treatment, surrounded by others who are also trying to recover. It portrays the highs and lows of recovery with raw honesty, showing both the painful realities and the small victories along the way. Watching it was a powerful experience for me because I have also struggled with an eating disorder. For the first time, I felt seen. Eating disorders are rarely talked about openly, so seeing a story on screen that reflected my own struggles helped me feel less alone and gave me hope that recovery was possible. Perfectionism has always been one of my biggest challenges. Whether in the classroom or on the softball field, I held myself to impossible standards. No matter how well I performed, I could always find something I thought I should have done better. That mindset eventually caught up with me during my freshman year of high school, when I was diagnosed with anorexia. What started as a drive to be “perfect” turned into something that controlled every part of my life. I entered treatment, spending five days a week, seven hours a day in therapy. Those long months were some of the hardest of my life. I was away from my friends, fell behind in school, and worst of all, I couldn’t play softball. Without the game I loved, I felt like I had lost my identity. I wasn’t sure who I was anymore besides “the girl with an eating disorder.” That’s why To the Bone resonated with me so deeply. The characters in the film mirrored my own experience of losing yourself to the illness and slowly trying to rebuild. It didn’t sugarcoat recovery, but it also showed that progress is possible. Watching it made me reflect on my own journey, and it reminded me that my struggles didn’t define me. In treatment, I had to learn this lesson firsthand. I’ll never forget when my parents told me they didn’t care if I failed every class that year because my grades didn’t matter nearly as much as my health. At first, I couldn’t understand. My whole life had revolved around achieving perfection in sports and school. But slowly, I began to see what they meant: surviving and finding joy in life mattered more than any stat line or GPA. When I was finally cleared to return to softball, I came back with a completely different mindset. Instead of obsessing over mistakes or putting pressure on myself to be perfect, I played simply because I loved the game. That season became one of my favorites—not because of my stats, but because of the freedom I felt on the field. I laughed more, supported my teammates better, and actually enjoyed myself in a way I hadn’t in years. To the Bone had such a profound impact on me because it validated my experience while also pushing me to look at recovery differently. It reminded me that life is not about being perfect, but about finding meaning and joy in the present. My eating disorder will always be a part of my story, but it does not define me. Just like the characters in the film, I am learning every day that I am more than my illness, my performance, or anyone else’s expectations. That is a lesson I will carry with me for the rest of my life.

My name is Ryleigh Weeks, and I am a senior in high school. I am committed to continuing both my academic and athletic career at Shawnee State University, where I will play softball and pursue a dual major in Special Education and Early Childhood Education. While I have many interests, my greatest passion lies in teaching and supporting students with special needs—a calling that first began with a few simple, yet unforgettable moments in high school. During my sophomore year, I was placed in an art class that would change the way I viewed education and human connection. There, I developed a meaningful friendship with a boy who had Down syndrome. Each day when I walked into the room, his face would light up, and mine would too. I made a habit of sitting beside him while he drew horses—his favorite subject, because of the horses he cared for at home. Watching the joy and dedication he poured into his art inspired me deeply. It showed me that passion can shine in many forms, and that encouragement and presence matter more than words. That same year, I connected with another student who also had special needs. Unlike the first, he was very quiet, but every single day he would hold the door open for me and say, “I like your shoes.” At first, I thought it was just a small gesture, but as the days went on, I realized how powerful it really was. No matter what kind of day I was having, his words always made me smile. That simple act of kindness taught me that sometimes the smallest things can make the biggest difference in someone’s life. These two students, without even knowing it, sparked my interest in special education. They helped me see that students with disabilities are not defined by their challenges, but by their strengths, their consistency, and the unique ways they connect with others. From then on, I began to picture myself as a teacher who could support and encourage students like them—not just academically, but in every aspect of their lives. My passion for special education also ties back to my own experiences as a young child. When I was in elementary school, I struggled with extreme separation anxiety. At home, I was a well-behaved, rule-following child, but the moment it was time to go to school, I became someone completely different. I would cry, scream, yell, and even fight against going. The feeling of fear and helplessness I experienced during that time has never left me. I know what it feels like to feel overwhelmed in a classroom setting, and I understand how much difference the right support can make. If I could be the kind of teacher who helps just one child avoid feeling the way I once did, I would feel accomplished. My goal is to create a classroom where students feel safe, seen, and valued—where they know their voice matters and their struggles do not define them. I want to celebrate their progress, no matter how big or small, and help them build the confidence to reach their fullest potential. For me, teaching special education is more than a career path—it is a calling. It is about connection, encouragement, and believing in every student’s ability to succeed. My journey started with two classmates who unknowingly shaped my future, and it continues with a dream to make a difference in the lives of students who deserve to be understood, supported, and celebrated.

My name is Ryleigh Weeks, and I am a senior in high school. I am committed to continuing both my academic and athletic journey at Shawnee State University, where I will play softball and pursue a dual major in Special Education and Early Childhood Education. Softball has been a constant in my life for as long as I can remember. For years, it wasn’t just something I did it was who I was. When people asked me to describe myself, the first word that came to mind was always “softball.” My confidence, my happiness, and even my self-worth were tied to how I performed on the field. While the game has taught me countless lessons about accountability, teamwork, and leadership, the greatest lesson it has given me is this: you do not have to be perfect. Perfectionism has been one of my biggest struggles in life. Whether in the classroom or on the softball field, I held myself to impossible standards. After every mistake, I would dwell on what I could have done differently. Even after what others would call a flawless game, I still managed to focus on the negatives. My freshman year, this perfectionism contributed to something much bigger: I was diagnosed with an eating disorder, anorexia. I entered treatment, spending five days a week, seven hours a day in therapy. Those long months forced me to confront not only my illness but also the root of it my need to always be perfect. That time in treatment was incredibly difficult. I was away from my friends, struggling with online school, and worst of all, I wasn’t allowed to play softball. Without the game, I felt like I had lost my identity. If I wasn’t “Ryleigh, the softball player,” then who was I? My grades dropped, my mental health spiraled, and I felt like the only thing people saw in me was “the girl with an eating disorder.” But therapy slowly taught me to challenge those thoughts. I’ll never forget when my parents told me they didn’t care if I failed every class because those grades didn’t define me. Surviving defined me. That perspective shift was life-changing. For the first time, I began to see that who I am goes far beyond the box score, my GPA, or anyone else’s expectations. When I was finally cleared to return to the field, everything changed. That season became one of the best of my life not because of my stats, but because of the freedom I felt. I no longer played to prove myself or chase perfection. I played simply because I loved the game. I was present, I had fun, and I truly grew as both a teammate and a person. Today, softball continues to shape me in positive ways. It has given me resilience, taught me to embrace imperfection, and reminded me that my worth isn’t tied to performance. Looking ahead, I am excited to continue my softball career at Shawnee State University. I aspire to compete at the highest level I can while also pursuing my passion for teaching and making an impact on children’s lives. I know that the lessons softball has given me—grit, teamwork, and self-acceptance—will continue to guide me both on the field and in life.

My name is Ryleigh Weeks, and I am a senior in high school. I am committed to continuing both my academic and athletic career at Shawnee State University, where I will play softball and pursue a dual major in Special Education and Early Childhood Education. While I have many interests, my greatest passion lies in teaching and supporting students with special needs—a calling that first began with a few simple, yet unforgettable moments in high school. During my sophomore year, I was placed in an art class that would change the way I viewed education and human connection. There, I developed a meaningful friendship with a boy who had Down syndrome. Each day when I walked into the room, his face would light up, and mine would too. I made a habit of sitting beside him while he drew horses—his favorite subject, because of the horses he cared for at home. Watching the joy and dedication he poured into his art inspired me deeply. It showed me that passion can shine in many forms, and that encouragement and presence matter more than words. That same year, I connected with another student who also had special needs. Unlike the first, he was very quiet, but every single day he would hold the door open for me and say, “I like your shoes.” At first, I thought it was just a small gesture, but as the days went on, I realized how powerful it really was. No matter what kind of day I was having, his words always made me smile. That simple act of kindness taught me that sometimes the smallest things can make the biggest difference in someone’s life. These two students, without even knowing it, sparked my interest in special education. They helped me see that students with disabilities are not defined by their challenges, but by their strengths, their consistency, and the unique ways they connect with others. From then on, I began to picture myself as a teacher who could support and encourage students like them—not just academically, but in every aspect of their lives. My passion for special education also ties back to my own experiences as a young child. When I was in elementary school, I struggled with extreme separation anxiety. At home, I was a well-behaved, rule-following child, but the moment it was time to go to school, I became someone completely different. I would cry, scream, yell, and even fight against going. The feeling of fear and helplessness I experienced during that time has never left me. I know what it feels like to feel overwhelmed in a classroom setting, and I understand how much difference the right support can make. If I could be the kind of teacher who helps just one child avoid feeling the way I once did, I would feel accomplished. My goal is to create a classroom where students feel safe, seen, and valued—where they know their voice matters and their struggles do not define them. I want to celebrate their progress, no matter how big or small, and help them build the confidence to reach their fullest potential. For me, teaching special education is more than a career path—it is a calling. It is about connection, encouragement, and believing in every student’s ability to succeed. My journey started with two classmates who unknowingly shaped my future, and it continues with a dream to make a difference in the lives of students who deserve to be understood, supported, and celebrated.

My name is Ryleigh Weeks, and I am a senior in high school. I am committed to continuing both my academic and athletic career at Shawnee State University, where I will play softball and pursue a dual major in Special Education and Early Childhood Education. While I have many interests, my greatest passion lies in teaching and supporting students with special needs—a calling that first began with a few simple, yet unforgettable moments in high school. During my sophomore year, I was placed in an art class that would change the way I viewed education and human connection. There, I developed a meaningful friendship with a boy who had Down syndrome. Each day when I walked into the room, his face would light up, and mine would too. I made a habit of sitting beside him while he drew horses—his favorite subject, because of the horses he cared for at home. Watching the joy and dedication he poured into his art inspired me deeply. It showed me that passion can shine in many forms, and that encouragement and presence matter more than words. That same year, I connected with another student who also had special needs. Unlike the first, he was very quiet, but every single day he would hold the door open for me and say, “I like your shoes.” At first, I thought it was just a small gesture, but as the days went on, I realized how powerful it really was. No matter what kind of day I was having, his words always made me smile. That simple act of kindness taught me that sometimes the smallest things can make the biggest difference in someone’s life. These two students, without even knowing it, sparked my interest in special education. They helped me see that students with disabilities are not defined by their challenges, but by their strengths, their consistency, and the unique ways they connect with others. From then on, I began to picture myself as a teacher who could support and encourage students like them—not just academically, but in every aspect of their lives. My passion for special education also ties back to my own experiences as a young child. When I was in elementary school, I struggled with extreme separation anxiety. At home, I was a well-behaved, rule-following child, but the moment it was time to go to school, I became someone completely different. I would cry, scream, yell, and even fight against going. The feeling of fear and helplessness I experienced during that time has never left me. I know what it feels like to feel overwhelmed in a classroom setting, and I understand how much difference the right support can make. If I could be the kind of teacher who helps just one child avoid feeling the way I once did, I would feel accomplished. My goal is to create a classroom where students feel safe, seen, and valued—where they know their voice matters and their struggles do not define them. I want to celebrate their progress, no matter how big or small, and help them build the confidence to reach their fullest potential. For me, teaching special education is more than a career path—it is a calling. It is about connection, encouragement, and believing in every student’s ability to succeed. My journey started with two classmates who unknowingly shaped my future, and it continues with a dream to make a difference in the lives of students who deserve to be understood, supported, and celebrated.

From a very young age, I have been drawn to the idea of helping others. I always admired teachers who seemed to have endless patience, kindness, and creativity when working with their students. But it wasn’t until high school that I truly discovered my calling: special education. What started as a few simple, everyday interactions in the classroom grew into something so much larger—a passion that has shaped the way I see the world and the direction I want my life to go. During my sophomore year, I was enrolled in an art class that would completely change the way I thought about teaching, learning, and human connection. In that class, I met a boy who had Down syndrome. From the very first day, there was something different about the way we connected. Every time I walked into the room, his face would light up with the purest joy, and without even realizing it, mine would too. I began sitting next to him every day, and we developed a quiet but powerful friendship. While I was busy painting or sketching whatever the day’s assignment required, he was always, without fail, drawing horses. Horses were his favorite subject—not just because he liked them, but because they were an important part of his life. He often talked about the horses at his house, and through his drawings, I could see the depth of his love for them. What struck me most was not just the beauty of his art but the way he poured his heart into it. He taught me that passion doesn’t always need words; sometimes it’s communicated through the things we create, the routines we keep, or the quiet joy we share with others. That same year, there was another boy in my class who also had special needs. Unlike the first, he was very quiet, keeping mostly to himself. But every single day, without fail, he would stand by the door, hold it open for me, and say that he liked my shoes. It was such a small gesture—so small that many people might have overlooked it—but to me, it meant everything. No matter what kind of day I was having, his words always made me smile. It reminded me how even the simplest act of kindness can have the power to completely shift someone’s mood. Looking back now, I realize that these interactions were not just ordinary moments. They were seeds being planted, guiding me toward a career I never would have imagined for myself before. At the time, I didn’t fully understand the impact they would have, but I knew something inside me was changing. I began to see students with special needs in a different light—not as individuals defined by their challenges, but as people with unique gifts, perspectives, and ways of connecting with the world. From that point on, I found myself more and more interested in learning about special education. I started researching, talking to teachers, and observing the ways that schools support students with disabilities. The more I learned, the more I fell in love with the idea of becoming a special education teacher myself. It wasn’t just about wanting a career in education—it was about wanting to make a real difference in the lives of students who often face obstacles that others don’t see or understand. What draws me most to special education is the idea of support. I want to be a teacher who not only teaches academic lessons but also supports students in the bigger picture of their lives. For many students with special needs, school is not just about reading and math—it’s about building confidence, developing social skills, and learning how to navigate a world that isn’t always built for them. I want to be the kind of teacher who notices the little things, who celebrates every success, and who gives students the encouragement they need to believe in themselves. I’ve come to understand that teaching special education is not easy. It requires patience, flexibility, and an ability to meet students where they are. Every child learns differently, and in special education, there is no “one size fits all.” But that challenge excites me. I want to create a classroom where every student feels valued, understood, and capable of reaching their full potential. When I think back to my classmates in that art room—the boy who drew horses and the boy who always complimented my shoes—I realize how much they taught me without even knowing it. They showed me the beauty of consistency, the joy in simple acts, and the importance of genuine connection. Those lessons have stuck with me, and they continue to shape the way I think about education and life. My dream is to carry those lessons forward into my future classroom. I want to create an environment where students feel safe to express themselves, whether that’s through art, words, or simple daily routines. I want them to know that their voices matter, even if they speak in ways that others might overlook. Most importantly, I want them to feel the same joy I felt when I walked into that art room and saw a friend’s face light up just because I showed up. Teaching special education is not just a career path to me—it’s a calling. It’s the place where my passions, values, and skills all come together. I know it will be challenging, but I also know it will be rewarding in ways that few other jobs could ever be. The opportunity to support students, to celebrate their progress, and to help them discover their strengths is something I feel deeply honored to pursue. In many ways, my journey started with horses on a piece of paper and a daily compliment at the classroom door. Those small interactions opened my eyes to a world I didn’t fully understand before, and they inspired me to dedicate my life to making a difference in it. Today, when I think about my future, I don’t just imagine being a teacher—I imagine being a source of support, encouragement, and inspiration for students who need it most. That is why I am passionate about special education. It isn’t just about teaching; it’s about connecting, understanding, and believing in every student’s potential. It’s about the small moments that add up to something much greater. And for me, it all began in a high school art class, with a boy who loved horses and another who never forgot to say, “I like your shoes.”